This morning I endured a three hour meeting without so much as a cup of coffee. Honestly. Where is the work etiquette in that? All was not lost though - two colleagues and I shared a cheeky lunchtime bottle of red wine afterwards. So apologies if this is a slightly rambling little missive.
I'm back from a relaxing few days by the seaside with MC. We took long walks, drank scrumpy in old smugglers pubs with wood fires, went to farmers markets and generally abandoned ourselves to rural pursuits (I even wore a fleece instead of my tailored winter city coat. For four whole days). Being out of town has renewed my desire to leave London for good. You don't realise how permanantly stressed you are until you walk away from it all, do you?
The initial reason for the visit was for more sombre reasons, however. I finally found out how my father died. It turns out his poor heart was twice the size it should have been. He had no symptoms, which is quite scary, and scarier still, he had none of the common lifestyle causes - he was fit as the proverbial fiddle and hadn't an ounce of fat on him (much to my continuing dismay). It's almost a relief to think that it was his time after all though, and there are no longer any 'what ifs'. He might have survived had he not been scuba diving at the time but dad was never the kind of guy who was going to do something as dull as to die in his sleep. The biggest relief perhaps is that he would only have been conscious for 7 seconds. I have tortured myself thinking about how much he might have suffered, might have fought.
I will leave him to rest in peace now, and not mention him here again.